


New York Drifter

by adastra615



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Assassins & Hitmen, Drama, F/M, Falling In Love, Hippies, M/M, Other, PTSD, Sexual Confusion, Some angst, Vietnam War, brief era specific racism and homophobia, existential angst of a lonely gunman, general dysfunction on the part of everyone, its a dark and gritty new york setting, noir, too many movie references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2019-10-19 17:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17605517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: Jigen enters a bar looking for a specific target, things spiral from there. It’s a 1970s AU  Jigen/Lupin noir meet-cute, where Jigen is supposed to assassinate Lupin but can’t stop himself from falling in love. With lots of existential angst - because I can’t write a story without it. Groovy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Part 1: A Land without Consequences**

**Tuesday**

It wasn't the seediest place Jigen had ever been but it was close. Water splashed over his shoes and a yellow filmly light found its way through the overcast evening and gave his surroundings a jaundiced glow. The heat and humidity of the rainy street rose around his ankles and made his skin itch. He wiped a hand across his face brushing away rain water, and the feeling of something - imagined or not - almost gritty against his fingers that had been with ever since he returned from Vietnam; a heat that seemed to have found its way into his bones; it was one of many things that was now different about him.

He pulled the brim of his hat down to obscure his face before opening the door adjacent to the alleyway. The man he came to see didn't particularity look Japanese, not like Jigen did, but there was something about him he could recognize. The man was lanky with long limbs, his fingers tapping to absent music against the side of his leg. He wore a flamboyant green jacket and Jigen couldn't tell if he was just another cool guy or if he aspired for something from the past, a bit of that cool 40s film noir about him -but really that was more Jigen himself. Sometimes Jigen liked to affect the lines of the likes of Toshiro Mifune or the protagonists out of Suzuki Seijun films. That was about the only time he spoke Japanese anymore. Never to anyone else, only in the silence of his apartment. But no, this guy was more Alan Delon, maybe with the slightly goofy look of Jean Paul Belmondo thrown in.

Why anyone wanted him dead - well there could be multiple reasons. He wasn't going to ask though. The gun in the holster next to his side felt right, something that warmed to your body temperature - grew to you. There was no more time to consider the man, only time to act. Even with this resolve, there was a bone tiredness to him tonight, and all he really wanted was to lay down in his dark basement apartment where only a small sliver of light filtered in through the crack of the concrete above, close his eyes and drift off. If only he could, he thought. His sleep was restless and incomplete and he wondered when was the last time he'd actually felt like himself, but too much introspection was an anathema and he buttoned his jacket, adjusted his hat, and approached the bar.

The man in question sat  with his elbows propped against the gouged bar top and a flower tucked behind his ear. His hair was cut short with sideburns that were closely cropped but with a languid angle that seemed incongruous with the relaxed attitude with which he sprawled his limbs; As if nothing ever hurt him and all of his joints were loose and ready. He was skinny. Skinnier than Jigen.

The man spoke with the bartender, her hair wrapped and braided elaborately around the crown of her head. A little vase of daisies with a macramé woven sleeve was visible in the small gap between them. She leaned forward a bit and the man scooted closer, clearly enraptured by what was visible through her low cut airy shirt.

Jigen scoffed and leaned back. This guy was dangerous? Inebriated in more than one way, but he did catch how his eye slid almost imperceptibly towards Jigen when he had first entered. And even though there was a small unreadable smirk on his face, Jigen sensed something underlying it all that was incongruent - something dangerous. Perhaps he would prove more of a challenge then Jigen first thought.

Jigen’s shoulder twinged when he reached for his lighter and even though he hated to admit it he envied the looseness and the ease of his target: his fingers dexterously pulling coins from his pockets with an extra unnecessary flourish before pushing them across the counter to the bartender.

There were still shards of metal in Jigen's shoulder and an occasional sharp jab of pain that would bolt down his nerves and into his fingers. The cherry on his cigarette glowed brightly and he leaned back, exhaled. The purple-gray smoke rose and settled, joining the cloud that hung ubiquitously above the patrons.

The man at the bar seemed both out of time and compellingly at ease, his suit clearly expensive. Jigen ordered bourbon on the rocks and settled in, that green coat always in his periphery.

There was a flash of movement and the man was sitting next to him, dark brown eyes alight and sporting a toothy grin.

"You're back. I had a bet with Cheryl you'd be back today. We've given you quite the backstory."

Jigen’s heart rate skyrocketed.

"She thinks you're an actor in some sort of noir revival. I was thinking more security with a bit of flair. Care to settle our bet?"

Jigen didn't say anything at first, taking a drink from his glass, breathing air through his nose. He took a long inhale from the cigarette smoldering against the ashtray.

"Strong silent type, is it?"

"Sales."

"Bullshit. Though you do have a bit of the Mormon look about you. I guess in a way you could say they're selling something."

"Amish," Cheryl said in the background from behind the bar.

Jigen stood with an exhale and a growl in the back of his throat. He emptied some change from his pockets. The coins thudding against the counter dense and heavy and the young man gave him a smirk.

"Sorry, you don't have to go. Cheryl and I were bored."

"The company’s not to my taste."

"He has a thing for you Lupin." He heard Cheryl say as Jigen moved towards the door. "Maybe you should go next door and see if he’s waiting for you there."

The gay bar he thought. Not that he’d ever been in. He didn’t particularly have a thing for anyone. Never really had. Only fleeting passions in a place where heat and water coated everything and if you were caught than everything else was pain and blood and death. So what if it was his third time in there and he hadn’t made a move, hadn’t taken out his target. He had a week after all to carry out the hit. Sure it was out of character for him to wait so long. Those things weighed on him, interrupting his already bullet ridden sleep: the thought of the job undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've had this story written for a while (its about 30k all together) but its been hanging out in editing limbo. But let me tell you, there's no better motivation to sit down and edit then being stuck inside due to -35 windchill. This was originally written as vignettes and I think some of that probably still shows. It definitely grew into something more of a traditional chaptered story/novella as it went along. 
> 
> The title was inspired from a Sezuki Seijun film called Tokyo Drifter. Only tangentially related, but parts of Cowboy Bebop were inspired by that film and if you don't know already, Lupin III was a big influence on Cowboy Bebop, so in a round-a-bout way it's relevant. ;)
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. I’d love to hear your feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wednesday**

The bullet caught his shoulder in Saigon and had been with him ever since, a reminder of a war that had been pointless and bloody and cost him more than he would allow himself to remember. He stood in the bathroom in his apartment. In the mirror the scar was darker than the rest of his skin. He held the razor in his hand and looked at his beard.  Goddamn that skinny little prick. With his Alain Delon savory. He held the straight razor inches from his beard. But dropped it next to the sink. He rubbed a hand against his shoulder. He ruffled his hair and wondered perhaps if it was him that was just out of time; that free spirit flown years ago. He settled his hat back on his head and put on his dress shirt over his undershirt. Goddamn it, he liked his beard and he was going to keep it. 

Jigen left the apartment. He watched as Lupin emerged from the side alley next to the bar with a black eye and a blood soaked grin. His fingers tucked in his trouser pockets.  Jigen followed him with his gaze as he entered the bar he’d been going to every night since Jigen had started following him. Jigen followed a moment later and tucked himself into the corner distancing himself, slipping between the patrons and the tables, but he thought he still felt the man’s gaze on his back. When he wasn't shooting his gun, he felt useless, untethered. He’d saved his fellow share of countrymen during the war by shooting people with his same skin color and the white guys cheered and they stopped calling him slurs - at least to his face. He wouldn’t have gotten shot - that bullet lodged in his shoulder - a reminder of what he couldn’t escape - if not for a momentary lapse in judgment. He would always be an outsider. Well fuck it, that’s what he was. And that was fine with him.

The man sauntered across the bar, his hands tucked deeply in his pockets, and plopped into the chair nearest the bartender from the night before. The conversation from across the bar was muffled but he caught a few words. The name Fujiko repeated a few times. "You know you shouldn't get between her and her latest conquest. You had to leave their with your tail between your legs didn't you?

Was he gay? He got a rather convivial sense from the man, like maybe he didn't have a particular preference but rather found something he liked in either sex. Jigen pulled his hat lower and sunk back into the shadows of the corner. He saw the man's eyes dart across the bar and even though he still wore the same wicked grin, there was something off about him. Maybe it was just the shadows casting an unhealthy darkness beneath his features, an unease that couldn't so easily be interpreted by a mere glance. Jigen, despite himself felt some sort of strange longing he couldn't put a name to - not a novelty per say, but something latent.

He had to kill this man and for the first time in his life, he doubted his ability to do his job. He scuffed his shoe against the dirty linoleum of the bar, felt it catch, He could pretend for a moment that he was somewhere else and the man across the bar wasn't his target. He let out a huff of air, finished his drink and shifted lower in his seat, keeping one eye on the man at the bar, in his gregarious jacket and his white chinos, once again looking so incongruent in this place with its shadows and hazy ambiguous corners. A room too small and undefined for someone who seemed to possess more life than one man should be allowed.

Jigen stood and stayed with the shadows. It was only Wednesday after all. The hit could wait. A heavy humid air hit him on the way out and he stood still for a moment looking down the way and then back before heading back towards the little apartment he rented and called home with its leaking ceilings and cockroaches scurrying whenever he bothered to pull the string on the naked light bulb that hung above the sofa. Not that he really wanted to see the odd dark stains that dotted the upholstery of the abandoned sofa he found there when he moved it; it was always a little too much to take in in the early hours of the morning. In the daylight the thing looked like you’d expect, but late at night everything was illuminated in a different way. That light catching in the fibers saying this is everything you'll never have. That old sagging couch had more stories than Jigen.

Jigen sat there under the glow of the light and took apart his gun, cleaning each piece and then after he lit a cigarette, leaned back, closed his eyes, drew it into his lungs and tried to get the man at the bar out his mind. It wasn't he didn't know his name, it was just he liked to keep things impersonal, he never thought of his hits as people, just a job, if he thought of them at all. There was a small longing to see the man again. It was a feeling he didn't particularly like.

He'd take care of it tomorrow one way or the other. The man at the bar would be no more and then he would be out of his head. In front of the mirror he picked up the razor again and caught the sleepless nights etched on his face. After a moment he put it back down and stalked around the bathroom, cigarette clenched in his teeth and feeling like the room was too small. How did he get stuck in this city? He should go home, get out of here. Maybe that was it, he thought. He didn’t like to be this introspective, it didn’t suit him. He decided he should hate whatever it was that was making him feel this way. All he could focus on was the man at the bar. Everything had been going just fine, until he got his instructions earlier that week that this man needed to die and that he was the only one for the job given his excellent record. He'd never failed on a job, but now he’d already been caught. He had spoken to the target and that was something that was completely against his own rules.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thursday**

He didn’t know how to describe what he felt, but it was this strange growing - not that he wanted to call it attraction - but a need to know more about his target. There was something about him, but what it was he couldn't put a finger on, only that he had the potential to derail the monotony that his life had been in recent years - long stretches of time in between hits that he filled in the most mundane way: walking the streets, cleaning his gun, and watering the one plant he had in the corner, (he realized he didn't even know the species of plant). He'd found it on top of a trashcan on one of his meandering long walks and something in him had made him pick it up and take it back to the apartment. It was a distraction at best - something else to focus on rather than himself and the present moment.

The other thing he did was go to the movies. It was a type of solace: for a moment he didn't have to be himself; he wasn't the gun for hire for those two hours, he slipped into someone else’s life and he saw reflected the state of the world - of this place with its lost inhabitants. There was a malaise and an anxiety to the films he saw, a reaction to the war, a disenfranchised broken-dreamed America trying to put itself back together. And for a moment he didn’t feel so alone. But the dream had never really been his to have after all - he could still remember how incongruently cold the metal of the chain-link fence in the internment camp in Manazar was against his fingers as he peered out into the desert and guards stood with guns and sneered down at him, locked away for a crime that he had not committed. But it had worked, he supposed, he’d hated himself for a long time after that.

He watched Robert De Niro on the screen, staring so vehemently at his own reflection, a lost man in a place with no longer a defined direction or a connected people, violence on his mind. And yet even he fought for something in the end.

Jigen didn't have a trajectory, but there was a small part of him that wondered if the man in in the bar could be it.

The little theater down the street played foreign movies and that was where Jigen saw the film Breathless. Had the man at the bar seen it too? There was something about his target that separated him from this lost country and its people, something in his appearance that hinted that maybe this place wasn’t his country after all and had yet to leak into his marrow, something else clung to him: making him resilient.

Jigen’s boss wanted the man dead because he had stolen something from him. Jigen wasn't alone all the time, but being with people didn't actually mean you weren't alone. He looked at the empty seat next to him at his kitchen, and the stupidest thought to date came to him: what would it be like to have the man at the bar sit next to him.

In the mirror that morning he eyed the razor on the counter, but didn't pick it up. He trimmed his beard, slicked his hair back, settled his hat on the top of his head, and tilted his head up, trying to see if the light did anything to chase away the perpetual shadows under his eyes, but he only looked more sallow like something that had been cut off from the light too soon. That made him think of the other living thing in his apartment and he ran his fingers over the leaves of the plant and watered it.

***

He decided he would do it a day early, get it over with instead of dragging it out. After all he was already three days too late when it came to his own accounting. The man had been given a reprieve; he seemed to live fast and loose, so hopefully he'd made the best of his last three days. He was living on borrowed time and here was Jigen to bring him his reckoning. The thought sounded dramatic in his own mind. _Been watching too many movies_ , he thought.

He kind of liked the thought : that in a way someone else had rubbed off on him a little without him even really meaning for it to happen. How lonely was he, really? It wasn't something he usually spent much time thinking about, but there was a longing for the man at the bar. Change would cost him too much. He was content as he was. He could stay alive just like the plant in the dark safe, quiet apartment. He could hear the bullets ring against his ears, feel the recoil in his fingers. He stood in front of the mirror. He didn't particularly look like Robert DeNiro. He'd been taken apart one too many times to really be anyone at all.

He rolled his shoulder, wincing and tried to pull his features together, easing the lines under his eyes, rubbing a hand through his beard. Trying to recognize something in the mirror that was his own. He put his gun in his holster and went out with all the intention in the world of finishing the job that should have been completed three days ago - the man would soon just be a distant memory.

The gun rather than feeling weightless against his side - more an extension of himself than a burden on most occasions - now felt painful pushed against his ribs. _When was the last time he had eaten?_ He wondered. Maybe that was why he looked so sallow. He hadn't felt hungry in quite a while. He turned the corner staying to the shadows.

His target stopped in front of him, his hand in his pockets his head turned to the side, his gaze locked on a woman across the street. "Fujiko!" he yelled and waved obnoxiously. She gave him the finger and ducked into a small green coupe before speeding away. "Don't be like that," he yelled after her and then let out a huff of a laugh. The man turned and Jigen moved.

"Oh its you-"

Jigen grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him into the alleyway, his other hand on his gun, and he slipped it seamlessly from the holster, moving it to press tightly against the man's chest right under that gregarious green jacket, his finger on the trigger. And then his gun was pointing above the man's shoulder, and his target was gripping his wrist, as if he'd known all along what was going to happen. His fingers squeezed deftly, a sharp agony of nerve pain shot up Jigen's arm. He grit his teeth, and held the gun tighter - that was when he felt the other man shift and he pressed his own gun against Jigen’s stomach; he couldn't mistake the feeling of cool metal.

 Jigen wanted to laugh and he felt something hysterical bubbling in his throat. There was still a flower tucked behind the man's ear, something still jovial in that killer grin he was wearing. "I hate guns," he said and squeezed harder against Jigen's pinned armed. He let out a small hiss of pain. "What do you say we both just take a step back?”

"You first," Jigen growled.

"You have a pretty high pain tolerance. But even I don't think you could keep that neutral expression after a shot to the gut."

Jigen didn't say anything.

"He doth protest too much." The man laughed. "I like you," he said. "I think I could really like you a lot." Then he slipped the gun back into his sleeve and twisted Jigen's arm until the gun clattered to the alley’s grime.

 Jigen could have stopped him, but something had halted his movement. He'd let the man break his grip. He'd been careless. His target bent down and even though he appeared to be casual about the whole thing, Jigen recognized a tension in his movement, like a bow strung tight - perhaps thinking Jigen wouldn't notice or not caring if he did.

"Why don't we get a drink?" The man proffered the gun to Jigen, the muzzle pointing towards the ground. It swung slightly on his forefinger - a dangerous invitation.


	4. Chapter 4

He took the gun and surveyed the man’s features.

“I'm Arsene Lupin,” the man said.

 He knew this already, but he nodded. Jigen didn't say anything, just holstered the gun against his side and slid his suit jacket back into place. There was an unease growing in his gut, everything was going completely wrong, but if he thought about it, his life had been stale for quite a while now. He still had another day, anyway, he reminded himself, and with that thought and the deadline not yet quite looming he followed Lupin into the bar.

They sat down in Lupin’s usual area.

“Now let me guess your drink.”

“Do you make a habit of this?”

"I do this with all my dates."

Jigen snorted and turned around to scan the bar, it was mostly empty. After all, it was a Thursday night; the real crowd would be in tomorrow. The hit would be harder with more of a crowd. But he supposed he was already this deep, he might as well just keep diving.

Jigen never owned up to his preferred drink, but Lupin had ordered him a whiskey on the rocks and then another and he wasn’t complaining. He pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and before he could get to his matches, Lupin had lit one and was holding it up to his cigarette.

Lupin gave him a wicked grin. “Knew you'd smoke Pall Malls.”

 "How?" he asked despite himself, feeling the few drinks they'd had settling against his bones, slowing his thoughts, and his fingers - though just a smidge: he could still outshoot the fastest man in this city if it came down to it. He wouldn’t allow himself to get to the point where that wasn't a possibility.

Lupin never gave him an answer, instead, he said, “Bet you can't guess mine."

“Why would I want to?"

"Come on its fun.”

Jigen looked him up and down and took a moment, inhaling on his cigarette and letting the smoke out through his nose, the nicotine making his head buzz; the whole room seemed to take on a brighter warmer glow. “Gitane.” Though he suspected his pronunciation was off.

 Lupin pulled the pack from the inside of his jacket. "Nice. I thought you seemed like someone who was observant or was it more intuition?

 Jigen shook his head before answering.  “Saw you smoking them the other night. It’s easy to remember. Pack’s pretty unique. "

“You have an eye for that stuff, then? So which one is the hobby?"

 “What hobby?"

"Oh I just assumed you were observant, maybe you painted, or wrote, or spent some way watching people. I always thought a gun for hire would be a good study of human nature."

"None of that," he said, suddenly feeling weirdly self-conscious. He couldn't remember the last time he’d sat down and talked with someone else in a environment and situation that should be more than tense but instead was somehow relaxed, convivial. Not that he really wanted to talk to the man in front of him, but he found that he didn't want to leave. He was at some kind of impasse within himself, a confrontation he had been dreading and expecting, because now he realized from the beginning that he’d never really thought he would be able to kill this man. For this moment, he corrected himself. He still had time to finish it tomorrow. Tomorrow for certain Lupin would be dead. This was still part of the job, it wasn't such a great idea to do a hit in such an open place, anyway. He' d find a better place to do it, but for now that could wait.

“You know what I think, people probably pin you as the quiet type,” Lupin said.

“And that’s something that can't be said for you."

“See! See! I knew it. There's a killer wit in there, almost as fast as you are with that gun.”

 Jigen looked around the bar, wondering if anyone was listening to their conversation. He felt blood rush to his neck, and his collar suddenly felt very tight. This job was going about as badly as it possibly could. What an embarrassment and here was his target openly talking about the job he _most definitely_ did not have.

 And then Lupin leaned in even closer. "So why is it that I'm still alive?" his voice ghosted against Jigen's ear, and he felt all the hair on his arms stand up, and it wasn't just embarrassment that was making his blood rush now. "Jigen Daisuke."

He almost scraped his chair back against the floor, almost, instead he sat there holding the man's gaze. There was something incredibly intense about not just his eye contact, but the knowledge that resided behind it. He'd seen it before. When he had been watching him, how he had slowly picked apart the bar person by person.  He must have known exactly where everyone was.  That was the unease Jigen had sensed earlier, the muted desperation of someone who is either being hunted or has the potential to be on someone's shit list and right now he most definitely was.

He'd pissed off Jigen's boss, by stealing his precious Maserati, which was later found when the hood ornament showed up around the neck of his most hated rival, purchased from a pawn shop in Brooklyn, and not that his boss was the most astute man but he did have people that were able to trace a connection back to Lupin by purchasing a few expensive items from a woman who hadn't given her name, but had been described in detail because of her extremely voluptuous figure. The boss had told the man that the expense would be coming out of his account because the price for the information  rather than being “haggled” down had somehow been pushed up.

Jigen had watched the whole thing unfold. "You think with your other head, huh?!" The boss had shouted, throwing an ash tray in the man's direction, and the information had sometime soon after been passed on to Jigen, who for the past week had been slacking on the only thing he was really good at. God, if only he did have a hobby, he thought.

 "Penny for your thoughts?" Lupin asked.

The mention of money had Jigen checking his back pocket for his wallet. He’d been watching the man slip wallets from unsuspecting patrons the whole week, sometimes he would slip them back without even taking anything, as if it was all a game.

“Ah come on, you think that lowly of me?”

“I've seen what you can do.”

"And I've seen what _you_ can do," Lupin said with a bit of a simper. He tapped his cigarette against the ash tray. “But maybe that's closer to the truth than you would want me to know?" he said raising an eyebrow.

 "What exactly is it that you think you know?"

“Your connections.  Sometimes there are repercussions when things don’t exactly go the way I want them to. And you’re one of them."

“Maybe don't spurn your lovers so much," Jigen said.

Lupin looked surprised for just a brief moment and then that emotion seemed to sink back from where it came. "How about instead of violence, we do something fun tonight? Isn't there enough of it already?"

Jigen shrugged and spun the ice in his glass.

"You’re too glum. Come on, Jigen. I want to see the other side of you."

"What other side?"

"Everyone has one. This whole thing’s brought out something dark in you. You weren't always like that. Life just does that. Doesn’t mean you can't slide right out from under it.” He slapped a hand against Jigen's back and he jumped, his hand itching for the gun. Lupin's fingers were mere centimeters from the wound on his shoulder, with its perpetual ache, and reminder of what violence can do to flesh and a person - immutable and inescapable: the knowledge that he'd served as a target and violence was his one and only calling. There was no hobby. He tried to think if he'd ever had one. Lupin's long fingers wrapped around his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. Jigen shook him loose with a low growl.

"What makes you think I want to go anywhere with you?"

"Well you were all game for it, didn't think I could shake you in the alley."

"Don't say that so loudly."

“What? Are you ashamed?"

"Ashamed of what?"

"Of wanting to get me into bed."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" He spat, standing, the bar stool tipping slightly to the right, he caught it before it could clatter to the floor. Lupin put his hands up in mock surrender and raised an eyebrow.

"Now I know why you looked like you had the shit beat out of you the other day." The alcohol was making the room spin a bit with the anger and the adrenaline running through his veins. It had sounded so harsh coming out of his mouth. He'd had the exact same thing thrown in his face once and the rejection had stung enough that the desire to ever declare his love openly again was accompanied by fear. It wasn't what he'd wanted to say, but it had come out anyway, that part of himself sunk so low that when he was with men, it was something he did solely in the cover of night, with little thought but to finish for the rush, that small moment of contact and when that was done it was done, as if it'd never happened at all. That was what he told himself.

To have someone speak so openly, unabashedly about it, made something within him bristle. How dare he have that audacity, that freedom, when Jigen had struggled with how he'd felt his whole life, knowing that there was something wrong with him, and this little asshole in front of him, so open and unafraid of the reaction. Nothing had happened; people turned in their direction for a moment, but then quickly turned back to their own tables. Had the world really changed that much and he’d been oblivious? Stuck somewhere back in the war or before that even where even thinking it resulted in a beating or worse? He stood there, breathing heavily, wanting to dissapear.

“Come on," Lupin said standing up, and nodding towards the door.

Jigen lingered for a moment, feeling torn, wanting to move but knowing that something would be irrevocably changed. In the end, Jigen followed him out into the hazy New York night, the humidity sticking the clothes to his skin. It reminded him of Japanese summers. He wondered if the man next to him felt the same away but stopped short of asking, feeling like he was becoming too sentimental.

It was never good for him and he tried to avoid it as much as possible. The two extra drinks were making things slightly relaxed, a hazy glow to the buzzing streetlight that before would have only gotten on his nerves, now  cast a light that seemed warm and innocuous; the whole city seeming to lower its level of threat, and he found that there were things he'd never particularly noticed before: How the setting sun reflected off the skyscrapers in the distance, almost like the waves in the ocean, a metallic array of colors that settled in the corrugated metal and it seemed for that one moment that the whole place glowed, his slightly dulled senses not picking up the stench from the nearby sewer. For a moment he felt like he could like this. The creeping unease that had so innocuously wrapped itself around him like a kudzu vine seemed to relent. He looked at the man next to him, humming under his breath, a daisy poking through his hair like maybe he still thought he was in the sixties. Jigen was glad to be nowhere near that decade anymore.  He wondered if Lupin had stood up and fought for anything. Had he stood in the street and picketed and demanded civil rights? And he felt the anxiety and the weight of the gun against his side and he remembered that tomorrow he would have to kill him and he would probably never know the answer to that question.

 "You’re quite the sentimental hitman, “Lupin said.

Jigen started, stopped in his tracks for a moment and Lupin let out small huff of a laugh. "You've been brooding this whole week instead of doing your job. And I won’t count that attempt in the alley. That was halfhearted at best."

"Keep pushing me and I might decide to do it right now.”

"In the street?  Nah, too conspicuous. Everyone in the bar saw you leave with me.”

“I can be gone in half an hour.”

I don’t think so. You live here. I can tell. New York rubs off on a person. You got that peculiar stench of this place all over you."

Jigen felt the irrational need to sniff his shirt.

"So if nothing gets done tonight, yours or mine?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I mean I could take you here in the street, but that's about as conspicuous as you shooting me in the head. Though knowing this area probably both would be overlooked."

"What the fuck are you implying?"

"I mean isn't that what you want?” He placed a tentative hand on Jigen's bad shoulder. He hated himself for the small flinch that ran through his body, certainly Lupin had felt it, the predatory smile on his face ticked up a bit.

"Well, I guess I shouldn’t assume, you know what they say." His fingers slid from Jigen's shoulder, and he felt the heat of that contact even as the man dropped his hand and turned away from him. "At least you didn't hit me," Lupin said. His voice was monotone, emotional in what it lacked.

Jigen relented, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. "Happen a lot, huh?"

"Only when people deny who they really are."

"I don't have to listen to some petty thief try to dress me down."

“Ha, if only."

Jigen colored, realizing his fault in word choice. He could still see the hint of a black eye, in the dark it looked more like a shadow. So that was his habitual practice then. He supposed it must have gone all right for him most of the time otherwise he was some kind of masochist to continue the pursuit that or an addict.

Jigen couldn’t stand it any longer, he needed to get away.  "I'm this way.” Jigen pointed.  “And it’s not an invitation." He turned to go.

"See you tomorrow, Jigen-chan." Lupin shouted behind him. He didn't turn around, but he felt something constrict in his chest.

He pulled the dim lightbulb’s cord when he entered his apartment. It sent a sprawling ugly glow over the small area. He shrugged out of his coat and then he knew where'd he gone wrong, because he couldn’t believe what he saw when he noticed the toy gun that was now sitting in his side holster,  the weight of it was exactly right. He never noticed when that little sneak thief had switched them. He laughed despite himself, sinking down into the sofa, leaning his head back against it, marveling at the stupidity and the inevitably of his situation: how weak and inefficient it had rendered him. Now the job which had been going poorly (perhaps an understatement) was completely botched, and that little asshole with his “Jigen-chan” and all his stupid simpering had taken the one thing Jigen needed to make his bread.

 He felt foolish and he paced his apartment. Then he grabbed his jacket and went out to find him. He'd strangle him if he had to. The job was going to be finished before the sun came up, one way or the other, he’d make sure of it. He caught himself halfway out the door, the drooping leaves of the plant in his periphery. With a grunt, he went back in and filled a cup with lukewarm water from the sink and watched as it soaked into the dirt. Then he set it down and went out into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

He went back to bar and stood in the shadows near the alley. If only he hadn't hesitated; that was the issue with the whole thing, his complete and utter inability to beat back his hesitation when it came to this man. It had never been a problem before, so what exactly did that mean? He didn't like the implication of it, he didn't want to think abut it. There was a whole lot of that now, things he'd rather not have on his mind. He felt more tired than he had in a long time. It ran under the adrenaline, like an electric current, the feeling of being naked and exposed even in the cover of darkness. How something so simple could turn everything sideways. 

There was no way Lupin’d gone home. In the few days he'd tailed him, even before he’d entered the bar he’d watched watch him go between bars, hands wrapped around the bodies of different strangers, laughing and jovial, eyes bright even in the darkness, catching whatever small light was there.

Jigen heard the click, and turned, thought he felt the heat of the gun, of the recoil, but there was nothing and he was left left panting. He pushed himself against the wall of the alley, trying to draw himself back together. Jumping at possibilities rather than realties. He almost thought his hands were shaking, but no that wasn't possible. If there was one thing he still knew about himself, it was that he didn't lose his cool, that nothing ever got to him. If he deviated from that then he’d truly lost all sense of himself. So no, his hands weren't shaking, and he wasn't breathing hard, and his thought weren't racing, and there was no way in hell that he wished that maybe he had invited Lupin to come back with him so for once he didn't have to be completely alone. Maybe then he wouldn't feel quite so untethered, lost without his gun in his holster. 

"Missing something?" he turned swiftly and there Lupin stood caught strangely half in the light of the dim street and half in the seedy glow of the moon that managed to penetrate the smog choked air, that now familiar grin crossing his face. 

“What the hell's wrong with you," Jigen shouted before he could stop himself, his voice rising to a growl.

"Hey, you can't blame a guy for taking preemptive action. Despite what I've seen tonight, I do actually think you're a probably a very capable gunman, and I don't need that anxiety. I have enough of that from the rest of my life."

"What? Where your next willing body is going to come from? Where the next party is?"

"Something like that," he said with a glint, and a small smirk. He moved closer and Jigen almost pulled back. There was something animalistic about his approach, predatory, and despite everything in his mind rebelling at the contact, telling him to complete the job and be done with it so he would never have to think about this man again or dive into his destructive introspection - he didn’t pull away. A part of him knew it wasn't true, that if he did it he'd never get this man out of his mind; he’d follow him forever either way. Something indelible - something he would never have - if he killed him or he didn't - he'd never have him - never know him, and he took a step back. 

"Are you afraid? Well aren't you full of surprises." He took another step forward, this time placing his hands on Jigen’s shoulders more gentle than Jigen would have imagined. And then he pushed him into the alley, his hands on his shoulders, and there were those dark eyes peering into his own. "I’m sorry about your gun. I thought it was the only way I'd get to see you again."

"I was going to finish it tomorrow."

"Me, you mean?"

Jigen didn't say anything.

"I might deserve it, but that doesn't mean I'm just going to let it happen. You flinched earlier when I touched you.'"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No arguing with that.” His voice grew quieter as he stepped forward. And Jigen was somewhere else, transported back. In the dark, the cicadas loud, the heat of another body against his own, a thin strip of light coming in threw the darkness of the mess hall, and for once silence, no gunshots, and a small moment of peace in all this violence, and when Lupin's mouth closed over his, he closed his eyes, his hands dropping to his side, his fingers moving under his jacket, Jigen’s mind a silent breath of darkness. Lupin’s long fingers pulled him close pressing into his back. He tasted like cigarettes. Jigen moved his fingers to Lupin’s waist, drawing them around his back where he found his gun. It slipped so easily into his grasp, feeling right in his palm like it was all he was really meant for. Lupin's fingers tangled in his hair. Jigen raised the gun slightly; there wasn't much room between them. He could put it to Lupin’s temple, his addled brain insisted almost desperately, but the gun remained lax in his grip, pointing towards the dirty alley street. Lupin pulled away and Jjigen looked at the ground. 

"Manhandling me to get your gun back? What a gentlemen you are, Jigen-chan. Wounldn't you rather do something more fun?” 

Jigen considered for a moment, before putting the gun in his holster and following him back into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap between updates. Grad school decided to catch up with me, I guess. My writing has really fallen by the wayside lately and I want to get back into it. I do have most of this story finished so I’m hoping to have more frequent updates.


	6. Chapter 6

Lupin stood in the doorway taking in the small room and for once not saying much. He stepped in and looked at the little plant in the corner and then turned to take in the few books that were leaning against the nightstand.

"Looks like the place of a man who just moved in.  But that's not true, is it? It's more like you're stranded here. Poor Jigen-chan."

Jigen bristled at the use of the pet name. "Don't call me that. How do you know Japanese, anyway?"

"My mom was Japanese," he said simply. "I grew up speaking Japanese and French. The other languages just followed."

"Well, aren't you the professor?"

"I thought about it at one time, but the pays not nearly good enough."

"Hmmmph, well there's probably more security in it."

"Hey, I'm not judging your choice of career, but I am judging this hovel."

Jigen shot him a dirty look.

"Just a little, it wouldn't take much to make it livable.”

"What am I? A corpse?"

"Just nearly."

Jigen put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, so for just a moment he didn't have to speak. It was strange all of a sudden having this cacophony of noise and in this place that had known silence for so long. "You talk a lot."

"Nah, probably more like the average New Yorker. I might even be under performing; you're just one of those Spartan macho types who pretends to enjoy their solitude."

Jigen felt the urge to reach for his gun, the deadline wasn't actually up yet. It was 11:45 on Friday night. He could finish the job now while this insufferable twig of a man stood here and insulted him. He didn't need to put up with this.

"Okay okay, I'll stop before you really do try and shoot me."

"It won't be try next time."

"I'll just have to take your gun again then, won't I," he said with a lecherous grin, but instead of moving towards him, he flopped onto Jigen's bed, putting his arms behind his head and propping one leather shoe against his wool blanket. He crossed the other one over his knee.

"I can feel every damn sprin-" and then Jigen was across the room and putting his mouth on Lupin's.

"Shut up," he said.

Lupin laughed against his beard. "Well I guess that's one way to get you into bed." Lupin was out of his clothes before Jigen had managed to undo his own tie, and his fingers which were normally so fast and so ready for anything his job required felt like sausages and he struggled with the buttons for a moment.

"Want some help?" Lupin asked, looking up at him coyly.

"I got it," Jigen said, feeling a rush of blood to his face. He wanted to turn out the light but then he figured he would never get his clothes off.

Lupin followed his quick gaze to the light and then his fingers snaked around Jigen's collar and pulled him down into a kiss.

He closed his eyes, felt his heart thrumming, a strange sensation filling his body, a euphoria that he simultaneously wanted to draw away from and embrace because the last time he'd let someone in they'd drawn a gun, placed it against his chest, and he'd only survived because he'd lashed out at the last second, realizing that all along he'd fallen for something that could never really happen, and the bullet had lodged and splintered his shoulder and any possible future he saw for himself with someone else.

***

"So what happens if you don't finish the job?" Lupin asked as they lay next to each other on Jigen's much too small bed. The closeness of it made him feel uncomfortable and he could already feel the creeping regret. It manifested as a headache behind his left eye, but he also couldn't bring himself to move, the ease and levity which with the man treated what they had just done frankly astounded him and he didn't know how to even start understanding him, only that his actions and his personality seemed to be in direct contrast with his own and there was something about that that even as he tried to convince himself there wasn't, that he was drawn to.

"I'll be the next job," he said. He found his suit jacket. Had he really discarded it like that on the floor? Lust made you do weird things, he told himself. He pulled a cigarette out - and tried to hide the shake in his fingers. He wasn't used to feeling this level of anxiety.

"Pass me one too," Lupin said.

"Get your own," he said gruffly, frustrated by how his lighter had disappeared.

"Well now I don't think I'll give this back to you," Lupin said.

Jigen turned to see his lighter nestled in the palm of Lupin's hand. He reached for it, but Lupin closed his hand at the last moment and laughed. He couldn't decide if he hated that laugh or not. It was almost obnoxious, but it was so weird to have another person in his apartment - to have any noise at all - let alone something so human.

"Look I don't even know where my jacket is. A gentlemen would give me one of his smokes."

Jigen shook his head but gave up in the end and passed him what he realized was the last one. He'd have to go by the store or suffer the consequences. How had he gotten so distracted to forget about picking up more cigarettes? Jesus, it was a part of his daily routine - this little shit had caused him to break so many things that made his days normal.

Should he do it now? He wondered. But no, the thought felt more rote than something he could now act on. Instead he got up and found his clothes, pulled on his boxers, and went about folding and putting away his suit. Lupin watched him with one arm bent, propping up his head, still in the buff.

"It's all as methodical as I thought it would be," he said after a minute sounding like he was musing on a thought but not quite ready to say it, which from what Jigen knew seemed out of character. Lupin wasn't someone to hold things in and maybe he was the better for it. "You wanted to be next to me less than ten minutes ago. You only wanted me for my body didn't you?" he said with a laugh and then hopped up on the bed in such a quick motion that Jigen turned quickly with a shock of adrenaline, but Lupin was only collecting his clothes in the most gregarious way possible: fishing his green coat off of the curtain track and pulling on his boxers, which Jigen only now noted had little polka dot hearts on the fabric.

"What do you have to eat around here?"

"You're staying?"

"Aren't you hungry? You look like you haven't had a good meal in quite a long time. You've been pining over me so much you can't even eat."

It was closer to the truth than he would like to admit. Lupin pulled on his undershirt as he walked across the room.

"You're going to be disappointed," Jigen said as Lupin opened the refrigerator door.

"Well you weren't lying," he said. "I'm surprised the ketchup didn't expire in 1965, honestly.

“Hey! It expired in 1967."

"Just the right amount of aging to give it that extra flavor. Look, let's go out. Let's get something to eat."

Jigen gave a noncommittal grunt but went to find his shoes anyway. He did like his company. It was something he was starting to realize the more time he spent with him.

Lupin was dressed again, and he went into Jigen's bathroom and came out looking as unmussed as someone possibly could hope, his hair slicked back, his tie on straight.

Lupin stood in the doorway and Jigen felt his eyes on his back. "You know in my line of work, I could use someone like you. That is if you're looking to switch jobs. Can't say the requirements will be much different."

"It's not that easy," Jigen said.

"Why not? When you don't finish the hit, won’t you be out a job?"

"Or a life?" Jigen said looking up from the laces of his shoes to see Lupin's expression.

"I wouldn't let that happen."

"Oh and you have a lot of influence in the underground crime world?"

For a minute he wondered if maybe he did. Was he affiliated with a rival gang? A kid of some higher up he'd never heard of? Hadn't he said his father was French? Couldn't say he'd ever heard of the French mafia in New York, didn't mean some other ethnicities didn't slip in sometimes if their skill sets were good enough.

"Not particularly," Lupin said after a moment. "I'm just good at getting out of binds. I could make you good at it too, if you stick around."

It was tempting. Certainly, this romantic idea of somehow stepping away from the only job he'd known for the past ten years and following this man.

"Look, I wouldn't treat you like an underling. We'd be equals. When we score you get an equal cut."

"Banks?" Jigen asked sounding incredulous.

"Not so conspicuous. Cons," Lupin said with a wink. "And I'm in need of someone with a good eye. Look, what I'm trying to say is I'm looking for a good gunman, and I want you."

Jigen didn't know what to say.

"Think it over," Lupin said, "and let’s go get something to eat."

Jigen's stomach growled and he couldn't deny the fact that he was hungry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how many apologies you can put in one fic for chapters having long gaps between updates, but here, have another one – an apology that is and well another chapter but that’s kind of a given. I do have some good excuses though. I graduated grad school, moved across country for an internship, moved back, got a new job, and moved into my first house. I’m #adulting. #Adults should update their stories too, so I’ll be putting the rest of this up over the next few weeks - at the longest.


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 2: No Such Place**

**Monday**

 

He found he liked to watch him, one long leg splayed out under the table. He should have looked strange with his proportions. He always sat in the most peculiar way, limbs strewn about as if they had a mind of their own. He almost looked content, but his loafer still tapped rhythmically against Jigen's linoleum floor as he read the newspaper. He turned the pages haphazardly as the other hand was reserved for his cigarette which he tapped absentmindedly against the ashtray.

It still struck him as strange to have another person in his apartment. He felt watched, as if everything about him was suddenly cast into a different light. He didn't think he liked it, but he wasn't entirely sure if that was true.  He'd come to grips with the person he was. He didn't need some brat making him reassess his life. And, yeah, it was way too premature for that anyway. So what? He'd spared his life, that didn't mean anything.

"Hey, old man let's get something to eat." Lupin put down the newspaper and in two long strides was straddling Jigen's lap, pushing his hand through his hair. "I'm starving," and he laid a kiss on Jigen that left him sputtering and too shocked to do anything else but reciprocate. And then just as quickly he had leapt away and was shrugging himself into his colorful jacket.

"Look, I told you we can’t just go out in the middle of the day."

"Oh, why? Because I'm still a wanted man?”

“Exactly, and now because of you I'm one too. I don't like our chances against twenty pissed off mobsters. You might consider yourself a crack shot, but I know for a fact that I'm better than you," he put up a hand, "more experience. I don't like my odds against them. Six of them sure, but not all of them."

"Now that, I don't believe. The invincible Jigen? Look, just pull your hat down low and no one will even know."

When he still hesitated, Lupin gripped the edge of the doorway, half in and out, and leaned backwards in an interpretation of a damsel in some 1940s movie and said in a drawn out falsetto, "What will I do without my bodyguard?"

Jigen laughed, despite himself and rose to his feet. He took his gun from the side table and holstered it. He turned around looking for his jacket - that was something new - before everything had been in one place, now things seemed to be in places he never would have thought to put them, as if part of his mind was being taken up by Lupin. He'd always been rather one-track minded, he supposed, and this seemed to be the manifestation of that gone awry. He felt like a man pulled apart. Before he left, he pulled the gun once more from his holster and checked the chamber. It was fully loaded. With a sigh he readjusted his hat. His fingers lingered on the brim and then with a resigned shrug he followed Lupin into the hall.

"Ah, my hero," Lupin said. "Dashing as usual."

"Shut up."

"And that wit. What more could a man want?"

 

                                                   ***

 

"What do you really like?" Lupin said as he chowed down on hash browns. If I wasn't here right now," he poured about half the bottle of ketchup over them, "what would you be doing?"

Jigen shrugged.

"Don't give me that. You must have some sort of secret life."

"What do you care? You'll soon be bored with all of this, and I won't see you again."

"Wow, airing your deepest, darkest fears."

"That's not my deepest, darkest fear. It's just inevitable."

"And how do you know that?”

"You're young."

"And what? You're eighty? You can't be more than ten years older than me. That doesn't even put you at 40 yet. You live like your life is already over."

"You really should, too."

"What? I charmed my hitman into bed. I think I have this whole thing figured out."

Jigen just glowered at his eggs. "Charm won't save you forever. Some people are probably more liable to shoot you than fuck you."

"This is some heavy shit in the morning, Jigen." He was on about his third coffee, stirring some creamer and sugar into the cup and then licking the spoon before putting it back on his napkin. "Given your profession, though, I mean, what else would you talk about? You can't really put your job to bed at night can you? You live it all hours of the day. But I think you were trying to run from it in that little dive bar. But then again, maybe you were just trying to figure me out. "

"Why should I tell?"

"I do like a man of mystery."

"Look though, if you could do something else other than your next-," he looked around the mostly empty restaurant, and then picked up his spoon and made a slicing motion across his throat and mimed a dramatic death pose, "what would you do?"

"Go to the movies."

"An actual answer? I can hardly believe it."

"You never ask any good questions"

"Okay, movies. What kind?"

"All kinds."

"There we go being all vague again. Well what's the last one you saw?"

Jigen hesitated, throwing his mind back and trying to remember. He saw enough that he couldn't always say which particular order they were in. He didn't think it was the last one, but he settled on Taxi Driver.

"That seems like your kind of film," Lupin said.

"You saw it?"

"No. But I've heard people talk about it. You liked it?"

"Honestly, I don't know."

"And that seems like your kind of answer."

"Are you going to eat that?" Lupin said reaching a sneaking finger across the gap between their plates. Jigen pulled his plate back, tilted it up and shoveled the rest of the hash browns into his mouth.

"Good enough an answer for you?" he said when his mouth wasn't completely full. Lupin just leaned back and lit up a cigarette.

"How do you stand to smoke those?"

"I could ask the same of you. Kind of a shit brand."

"I've been smoking these for twenty five years."

"I take it back about you not being old," Lupin said.

"As I was saying, I've tried a few and these are the only ones worth smoking."

"Well, you better pass me one then," Lupin said and held out an expectant hand.

With a sigh, Jigen knocked one loose from the pack and handed it over.

"Thanks. That will tide me over for a bit." He shook his almost empty pack of Gitanes.

"Good luck finding those. How the hell did you even get them here?"

"A master thief never reveals his tricks."

"Ha! Master thief. A little larceny here and there doesn't qualify you to be that."

"And what would you know of it? You've never been by my pad. I could have the Hope Diamond in there for all you know."

"You wouldn't be living here if you did."

"I like the grime. Feels real."

Jigen just shook his head. "You're an import. A tourist."

"I'm a citizen of the world. I go where I want, sleep with who I want, and take what I want, and I never look back."

Jigen raised an eyebrow, "That's quite the story you tell yourself, kid."

"And I think you've stolen your personality from one of your beloved films, old man."

He watched the grin spread across Lupin's face as Jigen found himself at a loss for words.

"Okay you're such a jet-setting master thief, steal something."

"I stole your gun already Jigen-chan and your heart," he said with a devious smile that made Jigen want to punch him. "Okay give me one minute." Lupin stood up and headed for the bathroom.

Jigen looked at his watch and tapped it when Lupin spun back around raising one finger and mouthing the words "one minute" in a stage whisper, before closing the door behind him.

The waitress came by and refilled Jigen's coffee. He didn't really need it, his heart was already jack-hammering in his chest like some idiot in love, confused and apprehensive and sure it was all going to blow up in his face. He looked at his watch, can't believing how goddamn stupid this whole thing was. His boss was probably out of his head and here he was sitting the middle of a cafe with only the back of the high seat and his hat - which certainly anyone in the syndicate would recognize - to keep him hidden.

He should retreat back into his apartment and Lupin should get the hell out of New York. It sounded like he had more than a few countries where he could find a place to stay, so why the hell was he slumming it here? Before he could work up to the point of actually standing, Lupin reappeared. He slipped easily back into the booth. "45 seconds."

"Bullshit," but when Jigen looked at his watch the minute hand hadn't fully passed. "Well?"

"Well...." Lupin pulled back his jacket to reveal a roll of toilet paper and then quickly settled back into the booth.

"What? Why the hell would you take that?"

"Well I didn't just take it," he said leaning forward. "I picked the locked and you're out of toilet paper."

"Since when?"

"Since this morning, but now you're not."

"Put it back."

"You're such a tease, Jigen. Here I was stealing this for you to prove my love and you're rejecting me."

"Look don't say shit like that when we're in public."

He only laughed. "That wasn't even a challenge, but unless you want me picking pockets in your family diner than direct me somewhere else. At least this was practical and now you don't have to spend your well-earned, dirty money."

"I can't take you anywhere."

"Here try one of these." Lupin said and held out one of his gitanes."

"No." Jigen said aware that he must have looked like a sulking child, but he didn't really care at this point. Besides he didn't need to smoke one of his imported cigarettes, it would be disloyal.

Lupin only smirked before standing up. "Let's get out of here." Lupin left a generous tip that Jigen supposed would cover the cost of the toilet paper. "There perfect! That will keep them in shoddy, recycled, thin-as-air toilet paper for a day or so." Lupin said.

                                               ***

"I'm going to make you dinner tonight," Lupin had exclaimed half way back to the apartment.

"With stolen ingredients?"

"Would that make you happy?"

"Not particularly."

"No. I don't use my skills for something so mundane."

"And toilet paper is on the same level as a Botticelli?"

"Something like that," he said.

Jigen could tell his mind was already in some other place. It seemed he never settled on one thought for long.  "Anyway, I think I've made up with Fujiko. You should meet her. She's wild. Rode with the Hell's Angels for a while. She was really radical in the 60s."

"Like you?"

"Nah, more so. Though I did help her break into a few governmentally secured buildings. We might have freed a slew of test animals once. I always wondered if that was a better fate for them. But what am I kidding! Wouldn’t you rather be on the street fending for yourself than suffering at the hands of someone else?"

"Yeah but you're living in New York. You're always going to be suffering under someone else."

"Not me."

"Not you? Yeah sure. Not you. You're the freest thing that ever lived."

"You could be too."

"I'm already marked.”

“They haven't done anything.”

“That's how it always goes. Lure them into a false sense of security and then strike. Make them think everything is okay."

"I suppose you would know better than me." For a moment there was something almost sad about him that seemed so incongruous to his normal facial expressions and body language that it threw Jigen.

"Anyway you're my hired gun, so I know nothing bad will happen. I have complete faith in you."

"Well stop being so conspicuous then," Jigen said, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed and he grabbed Lupin's elbow and pulled him closer to the side of the building. "Just stay here against the building with me."

Lupin quirked an eyebrow, but for once didn't say anything. Jigen noticed how his eyes darted about the street, taking in the other people,raising to the buildings, sliding across the windows, looking for the glint of metal catching the sun. Jigen had already checked. It was clear enough. The one reason he had allowed this excursion was because Jigen really was the best gunman the syndicate had. He knew the men that might be sent after them. Before that happened though he thought someone would try and track him down and find out what was happening. At least that’s what he hoped. There was still something that felt wrong, something that put him on high alert. And Lupin's reaction only cemented that feeling.

He noted Lupin's quick surveillance. There was something rigid about his stance again and he had the slightest feeling that maybe he could be as dangerous as he pretended not to be. Maybe he had been lying all along. Jigen didn't think he cared - even if he knew he should.


End file.
